Sparks
by lilyamongthorns
Summary: Pepperony 4th of July fic. A picnic on the beach and a private fireworks show. Pure pointless fluff.


It's a Wednesday. Smack dab in the middle of the work week. Hump-day, as Tony prefers to call it, much to Pepper's chagrin. But more importantly, today is July Fourth. One of the holidays Tony always overlooks. For a man whose whole business is—or was—based on securing and constituting freedom, he sure doesn't give much thought to the holiday. This is America, where people celebrate freedom by blowing stuff up and seeing how many long-necks they can down. Both of those appeal, and he wonders why he's never paid much attention to this holiday before.

Iron Man is a much more appropriate symbol of freedom than his missiles and guns had been. But that is no reason for him to pay particular attention. The only reason why he even bothers to recognize the holiday today is the long-legged red head he's managed to coax outside and out of her office upstairs.

He is sunning himself on a deck chair by the pool, wearing nothing but navy blue swim trunks, Dolce & Gabana sunglasses and a smile. The arc reactor in his chest catches the sun and glints whenever he shifts in his chair. Pepper is nearby, in the shade of the patio, stretched along the wicker settee, shoeless and wearing a floral sundress, tapping away on her iPad.

"You'll never get that Playboy Bunny tan if you don't come out here in the sun, Pep," he calls across the space between them.

She gives a soft hum. "For one thing, I have no desire to imitate those blonde bimbos. And for another, you know I burn like a lobster."

He can't decide which he likes more: the thought that Pepper could care less about molding herself into one of those orange-tinted magazine models, or the thought of buttered lobster.

Its Pepper. As always.

"A very delicious, cute lobster." He threw her a grin.

She doesn't hide her smile.

"Any plans for this evening, Miss Potts?" he asks after a moment.

She clicks the iPad into sleep mode, and slides demurely off the cushions of the settee. "I'm all yours, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, and don't you forget it," he comments, pushing his sunglasses higher on his nose.

She sits on the edge of his deck chair. "Why do I have the feeling you have some devious plan in mind?"

"Don't I always?" he grins cheekily.

She tosses her hair off her shoulders and tilts her face toward the sun. He hopes the sun makes her freckles a little darker, because that's the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

"So what is it?" she quizzes.

"I can't give away all my secrets. But I've got an errand for you."

She sighs, but smiles. "Yes, Mr. Stark?" she says, in her usual business-like tone. She's teasing him, and he loves it.

"Run to the grocery store. Buy whatever you'd like for dinner. Get one of those watermelons from the farmer's market. S'mores. Champagne. Tons of stuff."

"A little hot for a fire and s'mores, don't you think?" she tells him.

"Mmm…hadn't thought of that. Whatever. We'll microwave them."

She almost laughs because it's the only kitchen appliance he knows how to use. Thank goodness for JARVIS.

"You should give me a little incentive. After all, I am your CEO, still running your errands. That's not exactly in my job description anymore."

"I'll be your best friend," he promises, and she smiles. Because he already is in many, many ways.

"Is that all?" she asks, and he sits up to press a kiss to her neck.

"That will be all, Miss Potts."

-O-O-O-

He's always liked fireworks. Even when he was little. He remembers watching them at parties and galas with his parents, always from afar. He can't remember ever lighting one himself, but he isn't completely ignorant about the lighted end of a fuse.

He buys everything. He fills up the trunk and the backseat of his Audi, and he thinks he leaves the young couple at the fireworks stand a little speechless when he pays with five one-hundred dollar bills.

When he arrives back at the mansion, Pepper hasn't yet returned, so he hauls his load outside under the patio, and tosses an old car cover on top. Hopefully she won't peek.

She comes back with armfuls of groceries. Chicken, potatoes that she boils and mashes, macaroni and cheese—his absolute favorite—cake, watermelon, and the items needed to make s'mores. He breaks open the bag of marshmallows while she cooks, and 'accidently' downs the whole bag. Oh well. Graham crackers are good for a snack, and he can think of very devious ways to employ the chocolate later.

-O-O-O-

Just before sundown, he reveals his stash of low-grade explosives. She hums intently at his every word while he tells her what each one does.

There are the kind that change colors, the kind that form shapes. He's bought the kind that just make showers of colored sparks, and the kind that fire high into the air before exploding. He's even bought several packages of Roman Candles, which are just fun to hold and pretty to look at.

"And hey, did you know—" He points excitedly at the piece de resistance. "I'm a firework."

At the bottom of the haul, there is a wide, tall rectangle box bearing Iron Man's picture, posed valiantly with one hand extended, repulsor glowing. Loud, neon lettering identifies the explosive as "The Iron Man."

She smiles and shakes her head.

-O-O-O-

They haul a couple of deck chairs down to the beach, and enjoy a little picnic. Then he starts the fireworks.

He moves a little ways down the beach, far enough so they aren't in danger should anything go wrong. But every time he sets one off, he hurries back to where she sits, like an excited kid asking for approval.

At first she jumps at the loud pops and crackles, but eventually gets comfortable. She can tell he enjoys the noise, gets a little thrill out of the explosive booms and streaks of fire.

She laughs when one fuse is particularly short, setting the sparks into motion much sooner than expected and he trots back to her, eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

"Wasn't expecting that," he breathed, looking up to the sky where sparks of blue and silver are bright against the indigo sky.

"They're pretty," she observes.

"I've seen better," he says, and looks over at her. A blue glow lights up her face, but this time isn't the arc reactor that glows against her pale skin.

She gives a smile and turns back to watch the fireworks, watching them reflect off the water in mirror image.

The Iron Man is everything she expected—blue streams shooting in rapid-fire from the box, exploding into a shower of red and gold.

"Very accurate."

"Needs more boom. More fire. More…me," he appraises, and sits on the edge of her deck chair.

She rolls her eyes and sips her martini.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of dinner and a show?" she asked.

"Don't know what you mean," he says, shifting so he's hovering over her. "Being with me is always a pleasure."

She laughs and tries to hold her martini steady. "Indeed."

He presses his hands against the deck chair, above her shoulders, and leans down to kiss her. But the chair doesn't hold the new weight and tips backwards.

She lets out a scream, and he just laughs loudly while they tumble head first, a tangle of limbs in the sand.

"Happy Fourth, Pep." He smiles up at her.

-O-O-O-

AN: A little late for posting this, but hey, you can never have too much Pepperony. Hope you enjoyed. Feed the author.


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